


Mo Ghile Mear

by LocketShoru



Category: Saint Seiya, 聖闘士星矢: 冥王神話 | Saint Seiya: The Lost Canvas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cinderella, Family Tropes, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Pisces Albafica's POV, Referenced Parental Abuse, Saint Seiya Week 2020, no beta we die like gold saints, not romance focused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:13:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25745656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LocketShoru/pseuds/LocketShoru
Summary: [Day 4: Crossover] A glass prosthetic leg. A dead father. A living, bitter stepfather and two insufferable stepbrothers. But kindness can still be salvaged from the mess, and sometimes, that alone is good enough.
Relationships: Aries Shion & Pisces Albafica, Cancer Manigoldo & Pisces Albafica, Griffon Minos/Pisces Albafica
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11
Collections: SAINT SEIYA WEEK 2020





	Mo Ghile Mear

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings are for standard Cinderella stuff. Kind of hard to write one without the stepparent in question being abusive. Lugonis is mentioned and doesn't appear. Sage is mostly mentioned, but does appear once or twice.  
> Tbh if you decide you don't like Sage in that role, please substitute his name for... any male character you dislike, tbh, I just went for the one I thought of who was least incapable of playing the role. Eh. The song is [Mo Ghile Mear](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zxjvNUNXhkU), an old Irish folksong that translates to 'My Gallant Star'. Seemed right.  
> It's a crossover if it's any piece of media. Fairy tales count, and I have a final project due tomorrow, so leave me alone about it. Nyeh.

“I’m sorry, lad. There’s nothing that we could have done to prevent it.”

Albafica nodded silently, and allowed the two officials to leave, holding his position still against the wall, not leaning on it, not wavering in his stance. It was difficult not to waver, to stay standing ramrod-straight, to not shift his balance in order to keep it. At the table in front of him were his stepfather and two stepbrothers, all dressed in black, equally silent. His stepfather - a man named Sage, who he’d never liked for a moment and only sometimes pretended to - looked on as if shell-shocked, a snifter of some alcohol in front of him, somehow older than he actually was. As far as Albafica knew, this was his third husband dead, the second at sea.

Maybe if he’d been at sea with his father, he’d still be alive. Or maybe they’d both be dead. His two stepbrothers had their backs to him, but he could see Shion’s face, and he knew what Manigoldo’s expression likely was. Shion kept his golden, untamed hair wrapped taut around his head in a crown of braids, and he was stifling tears. He’d been more of the attempt to get along with Albafica’s father, clearly in an attempt to gain his affections. Manigoldo was more reserved, sitting straighter than he usually did, as though trying to pretend it wasn’t hurting him as much as it likely did.

But none of them had known Lugonis as well as Albafica did, and now he was gone, drowned within the sea he so loved. Albafica had gone with him, until the accident left him without a right leg from the knee down, and Lugonis had insisted he stay home.

Sage got up from the table, taking his drink with him and vanishing up the stairs, presumably to his room. Manigoldo stayed where he was, as Shion put his head in his hands and started to cry. Albafica couldn’t stand the tension in the room any longer, and stepped out into the back garden, hoping to get some work done. If he didn’t think about it, he could cope. It was the only thing that would keep him moving forward.

He hadn’t really known much of either of his stepbrothers, but disliked both of them virtually immediately. Shion was too gentle with everything around him, both full of attitude and far too naive to be of any decent companionship. Manigoldo was worse: blunt and abrasive, pretending to be high-class during the day and going out gambling at night. Sage was worse than the both of them, his easygoing demeanor slipping into more of the alcohol and becoming bitter, sharp-tongued and quick to criticize.

Albafica was fifteen, and by the time he realized what was happening, it was too late to do anything about it. “Go weed the garden,” his stepfather would snap, and he’d be out of the house in seconds, not exactly eager to do it but eager to be out of his way. Except it was also going to market, sweeping and mopping the floors, handling all the laundry, cooking all of their meals, and dusting, and soon it wasn’t long until he was doing everything, trying to stay out of sight and mind, away from his stepfather’s sharp eyes and harsher words.

Shion and Manigoldo were no allies in this: they argued with each other often, barely noticing his presence, sniping at each other during dinner - which Albafica was not exactly allowed to participate in, due to needing to finish the cooking and cleaning - and both found other uses for their time.

It meant he was lonely, oftentimes, never spending too long at the marketplace to speak to the beekeeper or the glassblower, cutting time where he could in hopes of being able to sleep before two in the morning. He rarely spoke, these days, for any reason other than obeying his stepfather, and bartering for produce and grain and other things.

Still, the town wasn’t that big, though not far from the capital city. Enough that he knew everyone’s face. Enough that he noticed, as did everyone else who was less busy than he, when a quiet, white-haired man arrived in town with a questionably large amount of gold to spend and a violet leather vest. Fabric that colour was very, very expensive. He paid the man no mind, finishing up bartering for another needle from the blacksmith - his current needle had become useless, and he was bound to be told to repair some garment soon - and acknowledging wearily that he was going to hear about it either way at dinnertime while he was cleaning up.

Unsurprisingly, Shion and Manigoldo argued about it for the entirety of the meal, who he was and why he’d come to the town. Sage ignored them as Shion moved to get up from the table just as Albafica was taking his half-finished bowl of soup, and sent them both to the floor. He went down wincing from the pain, incapable of getting back up on his own, the makeshift pegleg he’d carved ages ago finding no purchase on the soup-slippery stone floor. Shion jumped up, but made no offer to help him, and simply disappeared towards the stairs in an obvious effort to go and change, dripping soup all the way. 

Albafica ignored him, and in equal measure ignored the quiet rage pounding in his chest. He’d mopped an hour prior. It didn’t matter: now it would have to be done again. Sage left the table, and Manigoldo followed, not bothering to spare Albafica a glance. He ignored them both, and went about cleaning up.

His hands were more cramped than he remembered them ever being, and his vision was going a little fuzzy, and every few seconds he had to stop long enough to yawn. It was a full hour and a half later than he usually was able to get to bed, and he still hadn’t replanted a part of the garden that had been destroyed by the latest stray Shion had snuck in. He was going to have to get up earlier than usual, and by the arithmetic, he wasn’t likely to get more than three hours sleep.

Most of the time, he could content himself in some small, insignificant way by thinking about all sorts of natural disasters that could bespell his stepfamily and leave him to do… something, he was sure. But he was honestly just too tired to manage anything like that right now, and kept his hands and eyes focused on the sink in front of him, and the dishes that still needed to be washed.

There was a shuffling noise behind him, followed by the unmistakable creak of the stairs being walked on. He ignored it, but then-

“Stars, are you still _up_?” Shion asked, softly, in disbelief, like this wasn’t a weekly occurrence from all he had to do.

“I still have cleaning to do,” he answered, focusing on the plate he was washing. “I don’t sleep until everything is done.”

Shion made a noise he didn’t really understand, and vanished back up the stairs. He ignored him, though he caught the distinct noise of crying through the ceiling. He couldn’t really find it in himself to care all that much: Shion actually got sleep, most of the time, and also got to sit down for dinner. Albafica couldn’t say the same. A few minutes later and half the dishes finally done, the stairs creaked again, this time with two sets of footsteps, that cautiously approached. Shion placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t have to,” he said, quietly. Albafica set down the plate and dishtowel to glare at him, and Shion pulled him backward by the shoulder. Manigoldo, still in nightclothes, stepped up to the sink, a strange expression on his face. Albafica doubted either one had ever done dishes in their life.

“What, pray tell, are you trying to accomplish?” he asked, and his exhaustion must have shown through the attitude, because Shion pulled him back until he could push him up the stairs.

“You need to sleep,” Shion whispered back. “It’s not fair you should have to do everything.” He pushed him up until they stood in Albafica’s admittedly small room, and Shion made a noise of disgust at its state: nobody ever went in here except for Albafica himself, and he hadn’t bothered with its upkeep, nor did his stepfather allow him the money required to repair his bedsheets. Shion stepped away, releasing his shoulder, a mildly irritated expression on his face.

“Go get into your nightclothes,” he said, and it was the tone of order he was used to listening to, if not an order he expected. “I’ll be right back.”

Albafica changed, pulling his hair up into a quick braid. Shion returned with a folded comforter in his arms, much better than the threadbare blanket he had been using that was barely better than rags, and all but shoved it into Albafica’s arms.

“I absolutely cannot-” he began, the refusal already in his throat when Shion shook his head and cut him off.

“I can share with Manigoldo,” he answered firmly. “You need to sleep, okay? We’ll get the dishes.”

“I also need to gather the eggs, take out the fireplace ashes and refuse, and replace the tablecloth,” Albafica said, if a bit wearily. “That means I need to get up early, if you’re doing the dishes.”

Shion nodded. “We’ll remember,” he said, and he was gone. Albafica all but collapsed into bed, curling up beneath the comforter. He was asleep in seconds. The next morning, the eggs were waiting in a basket on the kitchen counter, the tablecloth had been replaced if the old one was beside the eggs, and the refuse and ashes were by the door waiting to be taken out, if not by the outside refuse where they should be. It seemed almost too good to be real.

He went upstairs, and caught another hour of sleep, before going down at his usual time to start breakfast, refusing to look at either one of his stepbrothers. If he acknowledged it, it might not have been real. And they might hate him now.

They went out that day, leaving him to handle the garden and a depressing amount of repairing garments for his stepfather, who had somehow and unsurprisingly ripped open several seams on his best trousers again. 

Albafica stepped into his room not long after finishing dinner - the dishes were soaking, and would be ready for washing in a couple of hours - to return Shion’s comforter. He hadn’t expected a different comforter he’d never seen before, or a new pillow. When he pulled the comforter down, there was also a set of new nightclothes.

There was only one place those could have come from, and he could feel the tears crawl up past the lump in his throat, and he refused to let them pass. He hadn’t cried in years. This may yet have been the first act of kindness anyone had performed for him in years, but he wasn’t about to cry over it. He went back downstairs, intending to finish dusting, and by the time he returned to the kitchen two hours later to finish it, Manigoldo and Shion were over the sink, talking to each other in low voices, washing dishes.

Albafica froze in the doorway. Manigoldo turned around. “Hey, ‘Fi,” he called. Up until this moment, Albafica couldn’t remember either one ever referring to him by name, let alone a diminutive. “Get some sleep, okay?”

Shion turned, leaning by his hip against the counter. “We got you new bedsheets,” he blurted, his voice still low. “I-I hope it was okay. And nightclothes. You really needed them and I can’t stand what Dad’s been doing to you, it’s not fair at all and I thought-” He broke off, biting his lip.

“He hoped you wouldn’t be angry,” Manigoldo finished, after a moment. His voice was equally quiet, but with more confidence. “Kind of a bad hand, and it isn’t a crime for us to want to help.”

Albafica stared at them from the doorway, attempted to swallow back the lump in his throat, and unsurprisingly failed. It had been over a year since his father had died. Things had slowly gotten worse, and worse, and there had been nothing he could do. Shion put down the dishes, and strode over to hold him as he wept. Manigoldo put his arms around the both of them, and for the first time in over a year, Albafica felt vaguely like he was safe.

He hadn’t known what good an alliance could do for him until he had one on his hands. He was invisible to his stepfather, and invisible was the best to be. He didn’t get so many harsh words, only orders, and certainly not insults. Part of him ached to defend his stepbrothers, who had truly stepped up with their kindness, but he knew it would only make it worse. He snuck Manigoldo some of his stepfather’s sweets, reminded Shion that being gentle wasn’t a crime, and nor was crying.

He would go to bed not long after moonrise, and his stepbrothers would rise after midnight, do the dishes and gather eggs and take out the refuse by moonlight, and before they went to bed themselves, woke Albafica up with hot toast and jam for a quick, early-morning snack together. It helped.

It helped more than he could ever have said. And one day, a royal herald came to town, proclaiming that the crown prince was holding a ball, and bade every maiden and lad invitation in their finest clothes, and said he would pick his bridegroom from the attendants.

There was never a question on who would be allowed to go.

“I wish you’d be able to come with us,” Shion complained, voice soft. Albafica didn’t look up from Sage’s leather vest that he was attempting to mend into wearable condition. He’d have to take it to the tailor for dyeing, but he could at least mend it himself. “It isn’t fair that Dad won’t let you.”

“Well, have fun there for me, and see if you can’t sneak home some cake,” Albafica replied. Manigoldo laughed as he swept up ashes from the fireplace.

“It’s a masquerade, ain’t it? No reason why you can’t come, so long as you don’t try to take the same carriage,” he said, and this time Albafica did look up, surprise drifting through him. 

“I don’t have clothes, and Stepfather wants me to clean the cellar while everyone’s out,” he pointed out. “Hard to do if I can’t make it there. Also, there’s only one blue-haired guy in town missing half a leg. I could put on any costume I want and it would still be obvious who I am.”

Manigoldo snorted. “You’re talking to the best gambler in town, so don’t put your eggs in one basket, and we’ll see,” he answered. He sounded sure enough.

Albafica sighed, noting it down as one more argument he’d win if he felt like fighting it, and focused back on the stitching.

Manigoldo and Shion called him to the latter’s room not long after Sage had finally gone to bed, less than a sennight later. Shion held a wrapped bundle, looking delighted with himself. “Goldie managed it,” he whispered, the excitement slipping through his voice as plainly as sunlight. “Tell him how you did it.”

Manigoldo grinned, and handed Albafica the bundle. “Let’s let him see it first,” he said, and Albafica took the bundle. It was a full outfit - feathered mask, blouse, bowtie, vest, tailcoat, pants, somehow two shoes, and…

A glass leg, from the knee down, ending in a metal joint and a glass foot. He stared at it. It reflected the moonlight like a million jewels, like something he had never seen before. It was beautiful. It was truly beautiful.

“Put it on,” Manigoldo said. “That was the deal. Put it on, give your clothes back to Shion, and we’ll see if the bet was worth it.”

Albafica looked up. “How much did you _pay_ for-” he began, absolutely nonplussed by it all.

Manigoldo waved him off. “Put it on, first,” he said. Albafica offered him a small smile, and handed his new clothes back to Shion, falling back onto the bed. His current pegleg prosthetic - which was really getting old, too - was held onto his suspenders with leather straps, and he undid them quickly enough, reaching for the glass leg. It fit almost perfectly against what remained of his shinbone, and when he reached for their hands to pull him up, they caught him, and he stood.

The joint seemed to work smoothly enough, if he didn’t have any control over it whatsoever. Manigoldo stepped forward and Shion stepped back, slipping one hand to Albafica’s hip, and the other through his hand.

“If you can dance in that, then I owe the glassblower nothing more than proof,” he said, and his voice was the gentlest Albafica had ever heard it. “‘S what he gets for bragging he could make anything out of glass. Someone had to take him up on it. C’mon, ‘Fi. Let’s dance.”

Albafica didn’t know how to dance. He didn’t say that, though, but let Manigoldo teach him by moving him through the steps, occasionally twirling him, occasionally allowing Albafica to twirl him. In less than a quarter hour, they were dancing around the room, and for once, he felt like a normal adolescent, leaning his chin on Manigoldo’s shoulder as they spun to imaginary music. Shion had his hands tight around his tunic, trying to hold in his delight. 

Albafica grinned. “So, now I just need to get to the ball and out again fast enough to still clean the cellar, and we’re all good,” he said, and Shion stepped over. Albafica hugged them both, tight enough to almost be choking them.

“We’ll help with the cellar,” Shion said. “We can’t leave early, Dad will notice, but he never goes in the cellar. We’ll clean up as much as we can before without it looking like anything’s been done, so as long as you leave by say, midnight or so, you can just clear off the surfaces, because we’ll have managed the rest.”

Albafica could only hug them tighter, and when they collapsed in Shion’s bed, it was the three of them as close as they could be, feeling finally like brothers, talking until they’d all passed out about what they thought they might see at the crown prince’s masquerade.

Manigoldo and Shion departed with his stepfather, waving and with secret winks. The moment they were gone, Albafica went to change, borrowing some of their bath supplies knowing they wouldn’t mind, slipping on the glass leg and ready just a few minutes early for the marshal’s fifth of seven sons to arrive with a carriage, paid for by Shion’s repeated kindness to him. It was early summer, just enough to be warm and for everything to be blooming. Perfect for a ball, and the full moon wasn’t bad either.

The marshal’s son dropped him off with a dip of his head and an “Excellent leg, hope it dances as well as it glitters,” which Albafica laughed at, and twirled once just outside the carriage to show off, before starting towards the banquet hall.

He was inching into fashionably late, but still reasonably on-time. The herald looked bored, but looked up at his arrival all the same. “And you should be addressed as, fair lad?”

He blinked - of course, this was a royal function, he was to be announced - and just past the herald, he saw a vaguely familiar white-haired man, the collar of his cloak made into velvet roses, each petal a piece of fabric.

“I am the Roseknight, son of the sea, first of his line,” he blurted, and the herald nodded in understanding. He wouldn’t be the only one here to refuse to name himself properly, to mark himself as a black knight of no known house. Though he was willing to bet he was the only one with his specific reasoning for doing it. The herald turned and announced him, and he walked through the doors.

Sweetened stars and sorrow, the ballroom was beautiful. Tables of delicacies and drinks were set like a buffet to one side, and most of the room was taken up by dancing. He couldn’t see either of his stepbrothers, but that was all right: he’d see them soon enough, and he knew what they were wearing.

He didn’t make it fifteen steps across the floor before a man took his hand. It was the familiar white-haired man from before, with roses across the collar of his cape, a mask on his face and a simple golden circlet set in his hair. “Care to dance?” the man asked, his voice tenor and soft, in a way that spoke of more regality than even his father could ever have managed.

“Of course,” he answered, a bit taken aback, and allowed the white-haired man to lead him across the dance floor. The music was exquisite. His partner, of what little he could see of his face, even more so.

One danced turned into another, into another, until finally they both admitted they needed a quick break, and his partner snatched a serving tray of food and a pair of drinks, and lead him out into an ornamental garden he’d never have been able to imagine until right now, to a bench they could sit on and eat their food together.

“So, fair one, what’s your name for the evening?” his partner asked. Neither had removed their masks, but he was fairly certain that his partner was nobility: the circlet couldn’t mean anything else, and it might actually have been real gold.

“I told the herald I am for tonight the Roseknight, son of the sea,” he admitted. “My stepfather didn’t really want me coming. Who might you be, tonight?”

His partner tipped his head to one side in a half-nod, allowing him that much. “I’m Minos,” he answered, taking a sip of his drink. “Just Minos.”

Albafica smiled. “You can call me ‘Fica, that’s what everyone else does when they’re playing nice. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Minos.”

Minos smiled, and held his glass up in a toast. Albafica touched his own to the other glass. “To the Crown Prince, then.”

“Better yet, to the good fortune of his future bridegroom, who will need substantially more patience than he expects to need,” Minos answered, and Albafica laughed, and drained his drink.

Midnight came far too fast, and soon he was bading Minos goodbye, after hours of talking on every subject, and a few more dances in the garden. Minos asked for one last dance in the ballroom, which Albafica agreed on, and ended in a gentle, chaste kiss on his lips. He was blushing, and so very glad Minos wouldn’t be able to see. But Minos tasted like something sweet and light, and as he turned away at the entrance, his eyes fell on someone he’d never wanted to see here, and had done his best to avoid.

His eyes met his stepfather’s, and he all but bolted. Not so fast as to be disrespectful, but fast enough that it was kind of obvious what he was doing.

He stumbled on the castle steps, hand flying to the banister, realizing just a little too late when his foot caught onto something deeply sticky, and the glass prosthetic came loose. He couldn’t turn back for it, not now, and kept going, using the banister as his guide.

The marshal’s son was waiting, eyes going a little wide at the lack of a lower leg on one side. “Stepfather _saw_ me-” he blurted, and the other hoisted him into the carriage, unceremoniously shoving him in. The horses reared, he heard the whip crack, and they were off at a full gallop, as fast as they could. He doubted it would be fast enough.

They were home in record time, and the marshal’s son helped him get into the house, pulling off his remaining shoe and glowering at the state it was in. “Pitch,” he said darkly. “The crown prince had pitch poured across the steps half an hour before you came down. Said he thought his bridegroom was going to run on him.”

Albafica snorted, reaching for his customary wooden prosthetic. “Not sure how pitch would help, but he certainly got more than he expected,” he muttered. “But… Thanks. That was kind of you, getting me out of there that quickly.”

The other shrugged. “What can I say? Shion’s nice, and he’s always so worried about you. It’s the least I can do for the amount of times he’s saved a delivery for nobility just because he wanted to help. I’d best get going, but… I hope your night goes well.”

Albafica bade him farewell, changed, and took a deep breath, to head down into the cellar. His head was starting to ache, but the night wasn’t over yet. He licked his lips to wet them, and found himself savouring that light, sweet taste still lingering on his lips.

The next morning had all three of them in the cellar, supposedly after Shion and Manigoldo had already gone to town, but had actually snuck in to help Albafica finish, and talk excitedly about the night’s events without being overheard. Albafica listened to Shion, who had flirted with a boy just his age who it turned out was actually the crown prince’s youngest brother, and Manigoldo had struck up a conversation with the crown prince himself not long before Albafica arrived.

“What was he like?” he asked, almost jokingly. “His wedding party, and all.”

Manigoldo grinned. “His name’s Minos. Tall. White hair, wearing a circlet and all these damn roses around him. Like he was trying to be a visiting noble instead of the host of the party. I only knew he was the crown prince because I got the herald to tell me his name before I went in. Cracked a joke about his future betrothed not knowing what they were in for before he went to see everyone else.”

Albafica dropped the broom. “ _That_ was the crown prince?” he squeaked out, feeling his eyes go wide.

Shion nodded. “Yeah. He had pitch smeared across the steps since he thought-”

“Thought his betrothed was going to run away on him,” he finished, his voice still a little high. “Stars and _sorrow_ , I’m an idiot.”

“‘Fi, what d’you mean?” Shion asked, slowly, holding his broom with a deeply worried look. “What happened?”

“I spent all evening dancing with a pretty white-haired man who I didn’t know was the crown prince is what,” he answered. He dropped onto a crate of potatoes, running a hand through his hair. “He was all right with me leaving, though, said he understood. Oh, and he kissed me.”

Shion made a noise that he didn’t know how to describe, and Manigoldo jumped towards him, grabbing his hands and pulling him to stand. “Crown Prince Minos _kissed_ you, and you’re gonna turn him down?” he demanded. “‘Fi, you ain’t that stupid. You gotta go back!”

Albafica blinked, several times, trying to see through his words. “It can’t have been me,” he said, finally. “I’m just some kid off the docks that works as a servant for his stepfather. There must’ve been two men there named Minos, that’s all.” His voice sounded faint even to him.

There was a frantic knock at the door, slamming against it. Shion went and unbolted it, and Manigoldo shoved his broom against the wall, where he definitely wasn’t nearby and couldn’t have touched it. Sage pushed past his youngest son into the room, a rusty machete Albafica used for beating back the blackberry bushes in one hand. He smelled faintly of alcohol, and if it weren’t for the fact that the only exit was past him, Albafica would already have been running.

“The crown prince sent out official notice this morning,” Sage said, and Albafica’s stomach dropped even more than he believed possible. “He said his chosen bridegroom left behind a glass prosthetic leg, and whoever fits this leg will be taken back to his castle to be wedded.”

“Father, can you put the knife down?” Manigoldo asked, his tone more reasonably than either of his younger brothers could have managed. “This is not a conversation we need to have when you’re holding a knife. You’re hungover, I get it. Put the knife down.”

“No,” Sage snapped. “I didn’t _ask_ for Lugonis’ whelp to show up, and that opportunity at riches could have been given to someone more deserving. His Highness didn’t say it had to be the same boy, only whoever fit the prosthetic.” He raised the knife for emphasis.

Albafica felt sick. He didn’t know if he would go through with it. But obtaining the injury was a nightmare that never quite stopped haunting him, and he doubted either of his stepbrothers wanted to experience it. 

“Am I interrupting something?” called a voice behind Sage, who whipped around to brandish the machete at the person who asked. The man, in full garnished armour, sighed and parried with a shortsword of a sidearm, easily twisting the blade out of his hands and kicking it away. “It seems so. Really, that’s no way to treat such fine young men.”

The knight pushed past him and into the cellar. “I heard the commotion as we were passing by,” he said. “None of you would happen to have lost a glass leg last night, would you? His Royal Highness isn’t the most patient of men, you see, and the faster we find the one he intends to marry, the faster we can be on our way.”

Albafica raised a hand. “I definitely lost a glass leg on the pitch last night, but I didn’t know he was the crown prince,” he admitted. But they had talked about a great many things, eating through their platter of food sitting in the garden. “And he never asked me to marry him. He asked about a lot of things, including a joke about what I would do if I were chosen, but he never actually asked.”

“He does that,” the knight agreed. “Do you need anything, then, before we leave? I ought to present you immediately, and he’ll be able to verify that it’s you.”

Albafica glanced around the room. “I want the mask I was wearing, it still has frosting on the side of it, he’ll recognize it. And…” He paused, and took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I lost my father to sea a year and a half ago. If I’m not returning here, I want to take what I’ve kept of his things. Lastly…” He closed his eyes. “That man is my stepfather, and I want nothing more to do with him. I think you’ll agree on that one. But these two-” he gestured to Manigoldo and Shion- “are my stepbrothers, and the ‘step’ part is optional if you ask me. If I’m doing this, I’ll be doing it with both of them beside me.”

The knight nodded. “Sounds good to me. His Royal Highness won’t be too upset over that, really, I think he’ll be delighted you’re not going to jump in completely alone. Shall we?”

They went, leaving their stepfather behind, hand-in-hand. Albafica thought stars might guide his way. But the best, most gallant of them, might be the two now at his back, leading him onward, as they always did.

Nothing else could be sweeter.


End file.
